My Red, White, & Blue Christmas

by Julie Christianson

  “Like Gwen? Ugh. That’s got to be hard on Mac.”

  Mom shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong. Daisy’s as cute as a button, with those big blue eyes of hers. Also she’s on the redhead spectrum like everyone on our side. She’s got these crooked little pigtails. Her poor daddy can’t do his daughter’s hair to save his life.”

  I chuckle. “Knowing Mac, that’s hardly surprising.”

  “Oh, and just a heads up.” Her voice goes low again and she frowns, like talking softly is a supreme effort. “Daisy doesn’t talk.”

  “Really?” I scrunch up my nose. “How old is she now? Like five?”

  “She will be in September. But it’s not that the girl doesn’t know how to speak. She just stopped. Won’t say a single word to anyone.” Mom puts a hand to her chest. “Not even to me. And I’m very easy to talk to.”

  “Oh, wow.” I want to bust out laughing, but I don’t want to risk her not finishing the story. “That is hard to imagine.”

  While I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling, my mother nods in agreement. “According to Mac, Daisy clammed up right after Aunt Remy left Apple Valley and moved back here to Abieville. He thinks Daisy’s silent treatment is the girl’s way of showing everyone she’s mad about her grandma leaving. Did you know Daisy calls Aunt Remy Little Mama? Like Big Mama. Except little.”

  “Yep.” More cheek chewing from me. “I was able to Sherlock Holmes that connection myself.”

  “Hmm. I think of you more as a Watson.” Her mouth tips up at one corner. “In any case, Daisy was here last night and I’ve never seen a child stay so quiet for so long. My goodness. When you were Daisy’s age, Daddy and I couldn’t get you to keep quiet for even a minute. You were always such a motor mouth. Talking, talking, talking. I must admit, on occasion, I was sorely tempted to wear earplugs.” My mother pauses to gasp for breath. Ah, the irony.

  “You know what?” I pat her knee. “It’s really good to be home, Mom. And I’m sorry I was late. But mostly I’m sorry I was so annoying twenty years ago.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly, Kasey. You are much more annoying now.” She breaks into giggles at her own joke.

  “Good one, Mom.”

  “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? You know you and Brady inherited that from me. Your father’s got absolutely no sense of humor. None. Zero. Zilch.”

  I glance around the room. “Where is Daddy, anyway?”

  “He ran over to Auntie Ann and Uncle Irv’s a while ago to pick up the butter.”

  I tilt my head. “The butter?”

  “For the snickerdoodles, Kasey.” She shrugs like I should’ve Watsoned that out. “We need pounds and pounds of butter, but we’ve been storing it at their place, seeing as how they’ve got all that extra room in that giant refrigerator of theirs. And thank goodness they do, because once the potato salad’s prepped, we won’t have much room left over here. And what’s a Christmas Eve without snickerdoodles for Santa?”

  “A tragedy!”

  “Exactly!” Her eyes go wide with triumph. “Once your father gets back from Auntie Ann’s, you and I can get to baking up those snickerdoodles.”

  “After we finish making the potato salad for the 4th of July?”

  “Exactly!”

  “While Auntie Mae is making ribs and corn for dinner?”

  My mother furrows her brow. “It might get a little tight in the kitchen, but we’ll make do.” She lifts a finger. “And by the way, I washed your favorite apron.”

  “Ooh!” I grin. “The one with Nicolas Cage’s face on it?”

  “Nobody else has worn it since you wrote across the middle in Sharpie. Property of Kasey. Do not touch.” She chuckles, then hauls herself up off the couch. “Anyway, I’m going to pop over to check on Big Mama and get those carrots. You can get your stuff put away and head to the kitchen.” She nods down the hallway. “Your old bed’s fixed up with fresh sheets. And there are clean towels and washcloths in the bathroom. Your father and I use the red ones, so you can use the green ones while you’re visiting. Thank goodness your brother moved into his own place. That’s one less person we have to share with.”

  “Speaking of Brady, when will good old Smelly Socks be coming over? Is he at work today?”

  “Oh, no. The pet hospital’s closed through the 4th of July, except in case of emergency. It’ll open back up after the A-Fair.” She claps her hands. “My goodness. It just occurred to me you won’t have to miss the A-Fair this summer.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Yep. That’s been a big sacrifice.” Or a practice in summer safety. Around here, everyone calls Abieville’s somewhat rusty and definitely rickety Independence Day carnival the A-Fair. Some of the ladies from the church balked at the nickname, but it’s always stuck. Like the Ferris Wheel half the time.

  My mother heads toward the door. Since the last time I was here, someone’s painted it red. “Brady’s been down at the lake all day hosing out the kayaks,” she says. “Just in case anyone wants to take a paddle. Those kayaks do collect a fair amount of spiders and leaves in the winter.”

  “I’ll bet,” I say with a smile. Christmas trees and kayaks? I’m starting to get into the double holiday spirit. “So, Mom, are we allowed to wear our bathing suits at the lake? Or are ugly sweaters mandatory all week?”

  She pauses at the door, like she’s weighing the options. “I suppose either one would be okay.” She taps her forehead. “As I recall, when Brady and Beau stopped by to say hi this morning, they were wearing swimsuits.”

  “Wait.” My insides twist. “When who stopped by?”

  “Brady and Beau.” She meets my gaze and lifts one eyebrow. “Didn’t I tell you, Kasey? Beau Slater’s back in town.” My stomach plummets, like I’m falling off the Ferris Wheel at the A-Fair.

  Beau Slater? Back in town? In this town? Abieville?

  My mother’s lucky I don’t throw up on her Prancer pillow.

  You so didn’t tell me, Mom.

  2

  Kasey

  M

  y mom waves and says, “Toodles!” then she shuts the door behind her. Our door that’s painted red now. Like all the blood rushing to my head.

  Beau Slater? How could that be? Last I heard he was some big shot photojournalist traveling all around the world. Not that I ever asked about him. Or looked him up on social media. Or paid attention to his whereabouts. Why would I do that? I can’t stand the guy. And he’s supposed to be far away, taking very important pictures with his very expensive camera. All alone, by his very horrible self. So why is he here?

  Oh no.

  Either that’s my heart pounding in my ears, or somebody’s in our kitchen. My dad could be back from Auntie Ann’s with the butter. Or Maybe Auntie Mae’s here to cook up the ribs and corn. Either one of them might’ve come in from the back porch. In Abieville, no one locks their doors. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a key. We don’t even have fences in this town. Just farmhouses and back roads and lots of trees and a big old lake.

  The refrigerator slams shut. So does my throat.

  What if Brady’s the one in the kitchen? What if my brother stopped by to let my mom know he finished washing out the kayaks? What if he brought Beau Slater with him?

  Nope. Nopity nope. I’ve got to get to out of here. Faster than STAT. I dart my eyes down the hallway. The safety of my bedroom calls to me. I could just run in there now and camp out for the rest of the week. That wouldn’t be weird, right?

  Sorry, family. I flew all the way across the country so we could be together for the Bradford sister’s first-ever Christmas in July, but if you need me, you’ll have to visit my room. I’m the one hiding under that Pottery Barn Jr. quilt I got for my thirteenth birthday. And yes, that’s a New Kids On the Block poster taped to the ceiling. And a Nicolas Cage pillowcase on my bed. Kasey Graham’s pillow. Do not touch. Poke me once to say I missed you. Twice for You’re a lunatic.

  Totally normal, right? Yep, that’s me. Totally. Normal.

>   A kitchen cabinet opens and shuts. Run, Kasey! Run!

  Stumbling toward the stairs, I pass the shrine to our 8x10 school pictures. The earliest are full of missing teeth and frizzy hair. Then the braces and acne. After I discovered conditioner and Brady discovered weights, we got a few decent shots in high school. Finally, miraculously, the trail ends with our senior portraits. Brady first. Then me.

  My brother, who’s eleven months older—hello, Irish twins!—graduated one year before me. As with everything else in life, I was stuck following him. I was also stuck in the same class as Beauregard Slater. If the village of Abieville is small, our K-12 school is even smaller. There weren’t too many kids to be friends with. Or to crush on. So even though they were a year apart, Brady and Beau buddied up—BFFs and all that. That’s when my brother stopped playing video games with me. Then he stopped hanging around the house. For the rest of our time under the same roof, Brady was either at golf matches or basketball games. Soccer or baseball practice. And Beau Slater was always with him, his best friend and teammate for every season.

  Have I mentioned how much I hate Beau yet? Okay. Maybe hate’s too strong a word. But I definitely feel for Beau Slater what anyone would feel toward someone who stole everything that mattered to her. What exactly did he steal, you ask? First, as I’ve already mentioned, he stole Brady’s attention. Okay, maybe not literally, because attention wasn’t something my brother loved giving me in the first place. But after Beau came on the scene, my brother’s pranks really kicked into gear. I became the butt of all their jokes. Peanut butter on my bicycle seat. Purple hair dye in my shampoo. I never knew what fresh torment was on the horizon. So yeah. Beau Slater stole my brother, and my ability to open my school locker without a couple of bullfrogs jumping out.

  Then there were the really big things Beau figuratively stole. Like my dreams.

  Thanks to my dumb brother, Beau knew it was my goal to go to college and study journalism. He also knew that on the road to that goal, I desperately wanted to run our school’s newspaper. He knew that when my interview with the paper’s advisor was still three months away, I’d already started a countdown on my calendar. In Sharpie. I meant business. But you know who went after the job of editor and got it over me? You guessed it. Benedict Beauregard. Don’t worry, though. Two can play at that game. I got my revenge when I was picked to be in charge of our school’s yearbook. I applied because his plan was to be a photographer.

  Photographer with a ph.

  You see where this is going, right?

  Beau and I both ran for senior class president, and he won by three votes. The following year, I was named Valedictorian. That meant I got to wear a special sash and give the speech at our graduation. How do you like them apples, Beau?

  Since we had the same GPA and had taken all the same AP classes, Beau told everyone I got Valedictorian because of favoritism from our principal. Our principal happened to be my Uncle Irv. Jerk. (Not Uncle Irv. Beau Slater.) Either way, that favoritism was a lie. The truth? I’d taken extra classes at community college and that’s why I got to be top of the class. It’s also probably why I got into UCLA. Then I got an internship at The Westside Chronicle. Now I’m about to get hired for my absolute dream job. Something Brady didn’t do before me. Something I’ve worked for my entire life. That’s right. Once Ms. Witherspoon calls, the hair dye and peanut butter and bullfrogs will all be ancient history.

  Except for one last insult to my injury.

  You see, at the end of our graduation ceremony, after all our classmates had tossed their caps into the air, Beau came to find me. This wasn’t hard, because I was the only senior sorting through the pile of abandoned caps. They all looked the same. Green and shiny. That’s why I’d put KGC inside the rim of mine in Sharpie. Kasey Graham’s Cap.

  “Kasey!” Beau approached from behind, and I quickly straightened. Thank goodness I was still in my graduation gown. It was large and flowing like a shiny green tent. The shape wasn’t flattering, but at least he couldn’t see my shape and make fun of me. Besides. Everyone had to wear the same ugly tent-gown. Even Beau.

  “What do you want?” I swiped a long strand of auburn hair from my face. A few yards away someone honked on a trumpet. A group of girls cheered. Sounds of celebration. Then Beau smiled. He actually smiled at me.

  “I just wanted to say congratulations. You totally deserve to be Valedictorian.”

  An air horn wailed and I flinched. The tang of copper flooded my mouth. It tasted like suspicion. Was this guy joking? Beau’s half a foot taller than me, so I tweaked my neck just looking up at him. His chestnut-colored hair was messy from his graduation cap. Waves of it swooped into his eyes. They were the color of the lake. Like mossy water. I saw no trace of teasing in them. Hmm. He stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

  I was half expecting Beau might be hiding some kind of buzzer in his palm to zap me, but I let him take my hand anyway, and oh my wow! Did I ever get zapped. But not from any hidden buzzer. Just from Beau’s touch. His whole hand wrapped around mine, so warm and strong, I felt like my fingers might fall off. I yanked back and looked down at the ground.

  “Thanks, Beau,” I mumbled.

  “Listen. I’ve been kind of a jerk these past few years. And I’m really sorry. If you’ll accept my apology, I have something I want to give you. Call it a peace offering before we both leave for college.”

  I lifted my chin to meet his gaze and my insides flipped. Hey, Guy. Don’t look at me all warm and sincere. Aren’t you aware I hate you? But he was being so nice. Maybe I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Or in those big lakey eyes. “I mean, I guess that’s fine,” I stammered.

  “I don’t want Brady to see us though.” He shifted his weight. “You know how it is with him.”

  I tilted my head. “No. How is it?”

  Beau’s brows pulled together. “Your brother doesn’t exactly want me hanging around you.” He glanced around. Was he actually nervous? “Maybe you could meet me back behind the gym.”

  “Just the two of us?” When I started blushing, Beau’s mouth tipped up on one side.

  “Don’t worry.” He chuckled. “I’m not going to try to kiss you, Kasey. Please. You’re like my sister.”

  Sister. Gross.

  Beau’s actual sister Natalie was a year younger than me and meaner than Beau. Ugh. Still. His insult did give me an idea. So I told Beau I’d meet him behind the gym. Then I shrugged like I didn’t much care. I told myself I didn’t much care. But maybe Brady would.

  If my brother found out Beau Slater gave me some kind of graduation gift, it might really freak him out. That could be good right? One last way for me to get my brother’s goat before I left for college. And what if I could get Beau to kiss me? Brady might absolutely implode. Of course I didn’t want to kiss Beau Slater. But I sure did want revenge on Brady Graham.

  When my mom tried to wrangle the whole family for pictures, I told her I had to run to the bathroom first. Then I sneaked away to slip off my graduation gown before my meet up with Beau. Underneath the gown I wore a brand new dress, and not to brag, but the dress looked good. The material was silky soft and sky blue. The color really brought out my eyes. And if I was going to tempt Beau Slater, having eyes like the sky was a good first step. Cherry lip gloss was the second. Three layers thick. Pucker. Blot. Ready.

  With a tickle of butterflies in my stomach, I sneaked behind the gym all by myself. The red brick building was quiet now, in the shadow of late afternoon. Beau was just a few yards away, waiting for me under a cluster of dense pines. The grass below him had given way to dirt. A single ray of sunlight played across his face. He looked up and saw me. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself.” As he approached, I licked my lips hoping to make them shiny enough to kiss. And as it turns out, cherry lip gloss doesn’t taste nearly as delicious as it looks. I must’ve made a face, because Beau reached out for me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded as he closed
the space between us. Then he guided me back below the trees. A bird burst from the branches, cawing as it hit the sky. My tongue was knotted up like the rope tying Uncle Cubby’s boat to the dock. At this point Beau was so near to me, I was practically swimming in his scent. Citrus and spice. Salty and sweet. I wanted to bury my face in his neck.

  Where the heck did that feeling come from? No, no, no. This was not part of the plan. I was here to collect Beau’s gift, get my kiss, then tell Brady about both. He’d flip his lid and be furious with Beau. Two birds killed with one lip lock.

  I bent my face up and closed my eyes, moving toward him inch by inch. My heart was a hammer in my chest. How would Beau’s lips feel? Would they be warm? Soft? Would he take me in his arms? I felt a hand at my waist. He was touching me. Beau Slater was touching me! My eyes flew open and I saw our noses were practically touching by then. I could practically taste the peppermint on his breath. And in that moment I realized this wasn’t about Brady. I wanted this kiss. I did.

  That’s when I heard laughter ringing from above. Beau jumped back and a split second later, the first water balloon struck. Then another. And another. I was being pelted in big wet slaps. Splash. Splash! SPLASH! I stood there gaping and frozen while my special-occasion hair got soaked. Water streamed down my face into my mouth. Lip gloss and mascara streaked my chin. I looked up and there was Brady, crouched in the tree, clutching a bucket.

  He and Beau had set me up.

  Humiliated and horrified, I unstuck my feet and began to run. No turning back. I kept on running all the way to my friend Molly’s house. And I stayed there for the rest of the night. I couldn’t face my brother or his smug satisfaction. Thanks to Brady and Beau, I missed graduation pictures. I missed our family dinner. When I finally dragged myself home, I was so embarrassed, I refused to explain myself. I couldn’t tell my parents what a fool I’d been. So I got in trouble. Big trouble. My usually patient father grounded me for the rest of the summer. I broke my mother’s heart that night. But mine was already broken.